To be or Not to be
by Souless666
Summary: After dropping jack off at Stanford, Sam's past comes back to Haunt him.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER:** _Neither my friend, nor I, own anything save for any OCs that might get introduced in this story. The rest belongs to Mr. Kripke..(The lucky Dog.)_

 ** _AN:_** I am posting this story for a friend, new to . This is her story, I think you'll like it.

To Be, Or Not To Be

Chapter 1

Sam drives into the parking lot of his old college, Stanford, and gets out of the car that was bought for Jack Kline; the young nephilim son of the Archangel, Lucifer. Though still bound with the purity and innocence of the child his mother knew from the womb, his physical looks are those of a teen nearing adulthood. Sam and Dean "raised" him as best as two Hunters, who fight the supernatural, on a daily basis could since the death of his mother and the "banishment" of his father to the alternate Earth with their own mother; Mary Winchester. And although, they would prefer differently, they know this is a step the young man must take on his own; if he is to finally fit into human society. Jack goes around to the driver's side; to face the taller man.

Sam: You're all set up and registered online. You just pick up your keys, and head for the Dorm. And you can call me, okay, for anything, anything at all, day or night, I'm here for you! Okay? Oh, and one more thing, remember to take care of this classic Corvette; you don't want Dean to come down here and embarrass you; right?

Jack: Right. I, definitely don't want that! Hey, where is Dean, anyway? Shouldn't he be here by now?

Sam: Dean went to get supplies, which means, he also stopped to get a burger and…pie. (The look on Sam's face is one of inevitability, as he shrugs his shoulders.)

Jack: What is it with him and pie?

Sam: It's his favorite!

Jack: So, I gathered.

Jack slides into the front seat of the Corvette and fires up the engine. Sam smiles through the sadness and the regrets. He waves goodbye as Jack drives away. "It's his favorite" has been Sam's deflecting answer to anyone that decides to inquire about Dean's infamous food obsession. There was so much more that Sam wasn't saying; such as how he long ago concluded that pie was Dean's emotional crutch. It was his way of recreating the good feelings he had as a very young boy; when their Mom was still around, and their or rather Dean'slife was normal, and the life of being a Hunter wasn't even a spark in anyone's mind. Sam never really knew how much Dean missed her, till that day they died at the hands of two other hunters and they spent a short time in Heaven. But at least Dean once had that suburban lifestyle Sam had always craved while growing up. And although even he, at that time, never knew normalcy; he did see it in his brother's eyes in that far-away look, and in those half smiles Dean sometimes had; whilst raising his younger brother as best he could; most of the time without an adult. This was what made Sam love, and care for Dean so much, enough to put up with all his idiosyncrasies; his disdain for normal, his criticism of nearly anything supernatural, his "judgmentalism" and his inability to trust; more so than any sibling would.

Dean was Dean, and Sam had, somewhat, learned to accept his brother as he was; even if Dean could never do the same for Sam. But as he walks back to the curb, his brow furrows once again, and then he purses his lips, because it is just now occurring to Sam, that Dean had exhibited far less of those traits over the past year or so, and nowadays, they're just starting to come back again. What had changed, he wonders. He stops as something, finally hits him. The thing, in their lives, that had not been there for most of it.

Sam: Mom!

Yeah, he thinks; of all the people Amara could have brought back to Dean; Bobby, Jo, Dad. Why did she bring back Mom? Somehow, Amara knew that Dean was broken because his Mother was taken while he still needed her, and it upset Amara to see Dean in that way; knowing that he couldn't accept her or love her; so she gave Dean the most precious gift possible; she gave him back his heart. So much for "The Darkness", he chuckles. And at that moment, Dean pulls up to the curb in The Impala; more than fifty years old, but she still looks like a baby; because Dean keeps her in mint condition. But before Sam could open the door, he hears a voice calling his name.

Paul: Sam? Sam Winchester?

Sam turns towards the voice and sees a face, it's older than he remembered, but it was definitely a face he did not expect to see; not ever again. The man comes running over and stretches out his hand for a good strong shaking.

Sam looked like he would drop dead right there. So many emotions cross his face in one instant, fear, pain, grief, and more regret than any one man should suffer.

Dean's face fills with tension. He doesn't like the way this man seems so familiar with his brother, when Sam doesn't seem at all happy to see him. Dean goes into protective mode, and swiftly gets out of the car for a better position. Paul is not oblivious at all to Dean's actions, and steels himself. Dean recognizes his pose, and the hairs start to stand up on the back of his neck. But with a wry smile, Paul turns toward Dean now, and shakes his hand.

Paul: You must be Sam's brother, Dean, right? I don't believe we've ever met; I'm Paul Moore, Jessica's father.

Dean tried to get to Sam, in case he needed to be held up, and to try to help him look like anything other than he did right now. But Paul hadn't let go of Dean in time, and Sam just barely caught the top of the Impala to stop himself from collapsing. He was literally sick inside, as was obvious from his pale complexion. Finally, Dean breaks Paul's grasp, goes to Sam and takes his side.

Dean: (Whispers) Sam? Sam; you alright?

There was something about the Impala, its strength, its durability; its solid cold-hard-steel, and its warm loving shelter all at the same time; it's somehow giving Sam what he needs to recover; to stand, and to speak. In this moment, Sam feels something more than a car, he feels a past and a future; he feels Family.

Sam straightens his spine, and goes to Paul, to deal with the consequences of this chance meeting.

Sam: Dr. Moore, I wasn't expecting to see you here.

Paul: Nor I, you. What brings you back to Stanford?

Dean: We dropped someone off, no big deal.

It's becoming apparent to Sam, that Dean doesn't trust Paul as far as he can throw him, probably even less. But this is not what Sam wants, and surely not what Jessica would have wanted. Sam feels compelled to fix it.

Sam: Are you on the faculty, now?

Paul: No, as a matter of fact, I was just passing through, on my way from a meeting. I often walk these grounds; makes me feel closer to my Jessie-Lee, my little girl.

Dean could see Sam's facade starting to fall.

Dean: Well, it was nice to meet you, but we need to get going. Isn't that right, Sam?

Sam: Going, yes! We don't want to be late.

Paul: Well, wait! How can I keep in touch? I was so hoping to catch up with you and your family. I have so many questions I feel like I need to know the answers to. You know, to keep Jessie-Lee informed. I talk to her every Saturday…at the cemetery; Daddy-daughter time, just me and my baby-girl. Her mother goes on Sundays.

Paul's face was sad; his head tilted down, and his mouth, a frown. Sam's heart was breaking for the man. He felt he couldn't just leave him like this.

Sam: Well, we have one stop to make, then I don't see any reason why we couldn't get a room and stay the night; take some time to get reacquainted. Right, Dean?

Dean thinks Sam is out of his mind, but wouldn't begrudge him anything at this point.

Dean: Oh, absolutely. (Dean nods with a narrow smile.)

Paul: Wonderful! Well, can I ride with you? I'm done for the day, and I would appreciate not having to walk.

Sam: Um, sure Dr. Moore, yeah; no problem.

Paul: Please, call me Paul; we're all family, here.

Dean gives Sam the evil eye, but then reminds himself to be nice to his brother, who is hurting so badly.

Dean: Get in. (He says calmly, but through gritted teeth, though hardly noticeable, and Paul didn't pick up on it. He points to the, back, passenger side door, so that he could keep an eye on Paul in the rearview mirror. As they take their respective seats, Dean wonders where the hell it is he's driving to for their "one stop".

 _ **TBC**_

 **AN:** Hope you liked, please leave a review, all, constructive opinions welcome.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Sam: So, Paul, do you still work in the hospital?

Paul: No, I have a private practice out of my home. After Jessica's death, (Paul bows his head in sorrow. Dean peeks into the rearview mirror and sees one tear escape his left eye.) I-I needed a more sedate way of life; the hospital was so busy, I found it difficult to concentrate there; so I just rather… (He trails off. Sam looks back, and groans inwardly with pain, knowing this was his own fault. And now he was willing to say just about anything to move past it. Sam sees Dean turn his head and crook his neck, in an apologetic manner. He then looks back at the road.)

Sam: So, I guess you don't have trouble getting patients to come to you, being so centrally located, and all. (Dean took this as his cue to head towards the center of town.)

Paul: No actually, I'm doing quite well. I am surprised however; you remember that, being you only came by when Jessica brought you home for the holidays. (Sam slams his eyes shut, squeezes his jaw, and bites his lower lip, instantly regretting that question. Sam felt like he needed to get out of the car, and fast. He sees a bookstore up ahead, and decides this would make a good opportunity to do so. He elbows Dean's right arm and points.)

Sam: There it is Dean, the bookstore, up on the right.

(Dean happily pulls the car over. Sam starts to open the door even before he has come to a full stop; but Dean didn't protest; he knew very well the need to cut and run that Sam was feeling, having been there so many times before. Ordinarily, he would have gone inside with Sam, but there's a stranger in his car; -one he doesn't trust, so even though they needed a chance to talk and strategize, Dean reluctantly decides not to follow.)

Paul: So, are you married Dean, any children? (Dean never likes that question, it will always hurt him, having had to give up Lisa and Ben, but he would not show this man any weakness.)

Dean: Nope! (He replied in a definitive manner.)

Paul: What's the matter, don't you like _**women**_ **?** (Paul launched an intended assault against Dean's manhood; just to see how he faired.)

Dean: Of course I like women! What kind of question is that!

Paul: Oh, I see; just not the _marrying_ kind! (Paul now stresses the words to convey the insult towards the type of women Dean associates with, instead of the kind of man Dean is. But before Dean could reply, his phone rings, and Dean immediately picks up as he sees that it is Sam calling.)

Dean: Yeah? (We see Sam, from inside the bookstore; he is waiting on a short line for the cashier.)

Sam: Dean, we need to talk. I'm sorry. I only realized after, that you couldn't leave Paul in the car alone.

Dean: Yeah, that's okay.

Sam: I don't know what to do; I feel I owe the guy.

(Dean so wanted to say to his little brother, that it's precisely what Paul wants Sam to feel, but he knew he couldn't speak of it with Paul in earshot.)

Dean: Yes well, I get it; I'll text you that information, right away. (Dean hangs up. Paul, a psychiatrist, having studied body language all throughout his career, knew very well, that Dean had to be talking with Sam. His entire demeanor was one of challenges and protection, no matter how badly Dean tried to hide it. Paul waits patiently, as Dean types out the letters explaining his own suggestions. And concluding that Sam would return upon receiving Dean's text, Paul knew he didn't have as much time as he would need to get rid of Dean, before Sam got back, so he drops the previous confrontation, and decides to change the topic of conversation, before Dean returns to it.)

Paul: So, what do you do for a living, Dean?

Dean: I'm a mechanic. (Dean almost said "pest control" but he felt "mechanic" was more threatening, as it is also used in place of "assassin". Looking in the mirror, Dean sees this revelation was not lost on Paul, as his eyes react to the word. Sam returns to the car. He opens his door; Paul and Dean are quiet, as Sam settles in.)

Dean: Did you get it? (Meaning did he get his text.)

Sam: I did, yeah.

Paul: And what, pray tell was that? (Sam pulls out a book, in paperback. Dean receives a text and reads it.)

Sam: Hamlet. (Dean rolls his eyes and turns towards Sammy; he couldn't get something they'd both enjoy? Upon that disapproving look, Sam passes the book back to Paul, who was surprised, but gladly takes it.)

Paul: A most curious choice. (Sam had no way of knowing, that after Jessica died, Paul had begun a secret worship of Shakespeare's plays, especially Hamlet.

Sam finds this to be a pleasant distraction from their predicament.)

Sam: Well no, not really. I saw it recently by a theatre group who was for lack of a better description, truly awful, so I felt I needed to re-read it- (he doesn't get to finish.)

Dean: To get that bad taste out of your mouth, huh, Sammy.

Sam: Right, yeah, exactly, Dean.

Paul: Come, now; how bad could they have been? I mean, what was the problem with their performance?

Sam: Well, first of all, they had no grasp of Early-Modern English, and as far as I could tell; I really don't think they actually understood what it was about. (Paul scoffs; smiles and licks his lower lip, then puts the inside of his fingers, loosely over his mouth.)

Paul: 'Tis not at all that difficult to comprehend; one only need to fully listen to the words, their flow and ebb; for it is poetry, and it is prose, it's life and it's death; What's so hard about: (Then Paul flips to a specific page and reads aloud.)

" **I am but mad, north-north-west.**

 **When the wind is southerly,**

 **I know a hawk from a handsaw."**

(Sam didn't know why, but he suddenly got the creeps from Paul; was it his choice in words, or how expertly he voiced them, Sam didn't know. But Dean could have sworn from the corner of his eye; that he saw Sam's ears pull back, like those of a frightened animal.)

Paul: See, nothing to it! Although, to be fair…

That was only one sentence, let's try some more, shall we? (He flips more pages, stopping at a one that was already part-way into a soliloquy, and begins again.)

Paul:

 **He would drown the stage with tears**

 **And cleave the general ear with horrid speech,**

 **Make mad the guilty and appall the free,**

 **Confound the ignorant and amaze indeed**

 **The very faculties of eyes and ears**

 **Yet I, a dull and muddy-mettled rascal,**

 **Peak like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause**

 **And can say nothing-no not for a king**

 **Upon whose property and most dear life**

 **A damned defeat was made.**

 **Am I a coward?**

 **Who calls me "villain"; breaks my pate across?**

 **Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face?**

 **Tweaks me by the nose;**

 **Gives me the lie i' th' the throat as deep as to the lungs?**

 **Who does me this?**

 **Ha!**

 **Swounds, I should take it!**

 **For it cannot be**

 **But I am pigeon-livered and lack gall**

 **To make oppression bitter or ere this**

 **I should have fatted all the region kites with this slave's offal.**

 **Bloody, bawdy villain!**

 **Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous,**

 **kindless villain!**

 **O vengeance!**

 **Why what an ass I am!**

 **This is most brave...**

 **That I the son of a dear father murdered,**

 **Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell**

 **Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words**

 **And fall a-cursing like a very drab,**

 **A stallion!**

 **Fie upon 't! Foh!**

 **About, my brains**

 **Hum, I have heard**

 **That guilty creatures sitting at a play**

 **Have, by the very cunning of the scene,**

 **Been struck so to the soul that presently**

 **They have proclaimed their malefactions.**

 **For murder; though it have no tongue,**

 **Will speak with most miraculous organ**

 **I'll have these players play something**

 **Like the murder of my father before mine uncle.**

 **I'll observe his looks; I'll tent him to the quick.**

 **If he do so blench, I know my course.**

 **The spirit that I have seen may be a devil,**

 **And the devil hath power t' assume a pleasing shape, yea,**

 **And perhaps,**

 **Out of my weaknesses and my melancholy,**

 **As he is very potent with such spirits,**

 **Abuses me to damn me-**

 **I'll have grounds more relative than this.**

 **The plays the thing;**

 **Wherein, I'll catch**

 **The conscience of the King.**

Paul: Ah, Hamlet.

'Tis best or worst on paper, and upon direction; Either a masterpiece or a foul beast; Yet, whence within my grasp, An extravagant spirit!

(Although Dean had only picked up on a small portion of what Paul was reciting, he never felt closer to Shakespeare in his whole life, than he does now; something was definitely there.

Sam, on the other hand, was shaking; he had felt all too well what Paul had so expertly said; how he would prove that Sam was indeed guilty of Jessica's death.

Paul looks ahead, through the huge windshield of the Impala, and recognizes the street they are on as his own, just then, the car comes to a stop right in front of his house. Paul has the distinct feeling that they are dumping him, but he simply won't have it.)

Paul: Gentlemen, come in for drinks and dinner; I'm sure I have something to please your palate!

Sam: Oh, no, Dr. Moore, no, we couldn't impose on you like that.

Paul: Nonsense; as I mentioned earlier, I wish to get more acquainted, I'd really like to become abreast of your lives.

(The look on Dean's face was questioning whether or not the good doctor was sick in the head; while Sam was just trying to pretend to be gracious, and at the same time; to get the hell out of Dodge.)

Paul: I won't take no for an answer. (Paul didn't budge from the car. He knew if he got out first, they certainly would have taken off without him. So, Sam and Dean had no choice but to give in and get out of the car first. Satisfied, Paul then got out. He made sure they walked up the steps before him. Then he squeezes between the two brothers to unlock the door. Sam couldn't help but notice that he still has the book clutched within his hand. Paul gestures for them to enter first as he turns on the parlor lights. It is a beautiful home, very comfortable, very clean, but not too gracious for a doctor.)

 _ **TBC**_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Paul: Please, be seated. (He motions, as he proceeds to the bar.) What would you like to drink, gentlemen; an aperitif, a cocktail? (Sam knew what those were, but Dean only recognized them as fancy-chick drinks.) No? Perhaps an old fashioned? Or are straight libations, more suitable to your taste?

Sam: Perfect, yes, thank you. (Dean's right eyebrow rises slightly, but he trusts Sam, to guide him through this.)

Paul: I have 10 year old Bourbon and 20 year old Scotch, Any takers? (Dean's voice catches in his throat while his eyes light up as though the sun has risen behind them, and Sam can't help but smile at his brother's delight.)

Sam: Dean will have the Bourbon, and I'll take the Scotch, thanks.

(Paul pours one of each of into very tall glasses; much more than should ordinarily be served, but he knew he had to withdraw for a quick moment to pop some pizza rolls into the toaster oven; he needed to give them a good reason to stay. He hands them the liquor, and slips into the kitchenette.)

Sam: Dean, we've got to get out of here.

Dean: What, right now? Things are just getting good.

(He holds up his drink in salute; then takes a swig. His cheeks widen, as the booze floods them with its mellow flavor. Dean's eyes close ever so slightly, as he can feel the warmth of the alcohol, but not its bite. Sam sighs, and follows suit, sure enough, the Scotch has a similar effect on Sam.)

Dean: This stuff is awesome! (He smiles, and takes another sip, smaller this time, so he may savor it, and make it last; whereas Sam takes a larger sip, because he is hoping the buzz will get him through this most uncomfortable situation.)

Sam: You're right, this is really good.

Dean: Something special, not to mention expensive, huh?

Sam: Sure is, yeah Dean; it is right up there.

(Paul comes back, and he's ready to make them refills. He can see that Dean is much further along than Sam, so he reaches out to take the glass from Dean's lips, but Dean quickly tilts it all the way back, to down the last drop. Paul smiles, takes the Collins and slightly bows his head, in honor of Dean's appreciation of his hospitality. As he passes by Sam, he eyes the content of the Delmonico, to see if it yet needs refreshing. As he fixes Dean another round, it becomes obvious, that he had not yet made one for himself, and that would just be rude. So he selects dark rum and proceeds accordingly. Dean, peers over Paul's shoulder, and sees him pick up the rum; fearing that Paul is not going to pour another Bourbon for him; he decides to try to butter him up.)

Dean: I couldn't help but notice what a nice house you have here, Doc. What's the layout?

Paul: Thank you, Dean. Well. Let's see now, basically, it's a Tudor.

Dean: A Two-door, right. (Sam shakes his head at Dean's ignorance. Paul continues.)

Paul: It has two stories, a front porch, and a back porch. Each story has more than one fireplace. The second floor has three bedrooms with walk-in closets and bathrooms. Downstairs here, we have two more bathrooms, living-room, a den, the parlor, or in this case, my office, which we are in now, complete with a kitchenette just off to the side there; and of course the main kitchen with two pantries. There's a washer and dryer near the boiler room.

(He turns. Dean is ecstatic to see his refill, is at hand.)

Dean: Thanks, Doc. (He takes it, with another gesture of salute. This time, he downs a large amount, and he seems to appreciate it even more.)

Sam: Did you say we're in your office? (Sam's voice seems just a bit slow. And Dean feels a need to take a load off his feet, but doesn't think much of it.)

Paul: Oh yes. I do some of my best work, right in here!

Sam: That's remarkable. (Sam shakes his head erratically, as though he was trying to clear it of a great fog. Dean can tell something is wrong with Sam, but has lost the capacity to do anything about it.)

Paul: So, where do you live? Are you back in Kansas?

Sam: Yes, but we travel a great deal. (Dean wasn't sure if Sam was speaking slowly; or if his was hearing was a little off. But this is precisely what Paul was anticipating. He looks at the two men closely, just waiting for the right moment to strike.)

Sam: What did you do? (He asks again; this time angry.) What did you do to us?

Dean: Did you drug us? (They barely had time to surrender their glasses to Paul, before passing out. Paul hears the oven timer go "ding".)

Paul: Ah, more for me then, hmm? Excuse me gentlemen, I must remove our fare.

(Paul leaves. Dean has slipped deep down into the cushions of the sofa, while Sam is resting head-back in the armchair.)

 _ **TBC**_

 **AN:** My friend hopes ppl are enjoying the story, and would love any feedback on what ppl think of the story. :)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3

(Dean had been removed from the parlor, altogether; and Sam is now tied to a very strong hard metal side-chair; fishing line bound around his wrists and his ankles, hemp lines are secured along his six-pack. Flames are now flickering in the fireplace inside the wall behind him.

Sam lets out a small groan. Paul is sitting across from him at a table; from time to time, he refers to the book he stole from Sam, and seems to be re-writing Shakespeare, while he waits for Sam to fully awaken.)

Paul: Good to see you have finally rejoined me, Sam. I thought I might have given you too much Fentanyl; but you see, in this tale, I am the prince, and _**you**_ are the King.

(His words cut through Sam as deep as a knife. Sam scans the room, but can't find Dean. Paul can see panic strike his eyes.)

Paul: No, no, no, Dean isn't coming to recue you from the fires of hell, this time! (Sam is worried about his brother. What might this nutcase have done to him? Sam struggles more, now that he is fully aware.)

Paul: Sam, Sam, Sam… (Paul walks over to Sam, and then behind him. He places a heavy hand on the back of Sam's shoulder, leans in and calmly informs him.)

Paul: The more you move, the tighter the slipknots get. I suggest you stay still, for now. But, don't worry, you won't get bored. I have some entertainment lined up for you.

(In front of them, there is an old fashioned pull down screen, the kind on which people used to watch slides or 8 millimeter home movies; except this particular screen seems larger and more modern, like a movie screen of today, with a slight convex curve, to make the picture reflect evenly from all sides. Sam can see the bright white light from a projector gleaming onto the glass beads imbedded into the silvery vinyl. Paul picks up a nearby remote controller, and depresses the play button. Sam has a pretty good idea what the video will entail, and he doesn't want to see it, so he closes his eyes. But Paul doesn't fret, even though he'd really rather that Sam watch it, just to revel in his agony. But Paul was nothing, if not patient, he had already waited over a dozen years; he felt he could last a few more minutes. Sam would have to look sooner or later, be it morbid curiosity, or nostalgia, either way; Sam would eventually look, and when he does, Paul would be waiting. But for now, he will go back to the table, and finish writing.)

[Living room]

(Dean is beginning to stir; his head is pounding and his eyelids feel like they had been lined with lead. He wonders how much he drank, but then recalls having been given a "Mickey". He tries to raise his hands to his face and his eyes, but he can't, they are tied down to his thighs. Across the plane of his abdomen, is a very thick rope which is fastened to something; what, he wasn't sure. Dean does finally get his eyes to open, and is thoroughly pissed, that he is no longer in the same room with Sam.)

Dean: Son of a bitch! (Dean is experiencing basically one emotion, anger. He knows he has to find a way to get out of these bonds, and to his little brother's side. Right away, he looks around to assess the situation, and to come up with ideas of how to escape. And while his eyes are searching, his ears are picking up the sounds of voices from the next room.)

[Parlor]

(In this part of the film being shown, is a young girl – Jessica Lee, as her daddy calls her. She's beautiful, happy, and carefree. This little girl goes running off in the distance; her cameraman father is chasing her from behind. She purposely falls and rolls down a steep grassy hill, as so many other children have done before her; laughing hysterically, all the way. Sam knows what Paul is trying to do; make him feel guilty and he does; but he thinks as long as he doesn't "let on", he has a chance of finding Dean, and making it out of there. Paul puts down his pen; Sam just now notices it's one designed especially for calligraphy. And as different as the two brothers are Dean and Sam always did have one thing in common; they couldn't help but antagonize their captors, and this time was no exception.)

Sam: Calligraphy, how fitting a thief of Shakespeare to use when plagiarizing his words.

Paul: (Ominously.) You should be more considerate; I have not copied all this down for my own eyes, but for yours.

(Paul decides to advance the film now, to turn up the heat, so to speak. We now see a much older girl; a white butter-cream cake with "Happy 17th Birthday, Jessica" displayed atop in pink icing. Her voice is becoming recognizable to Sam, and he fights the urge to look. Paul can read the conflict in his body language; he knows it won't be much longer now. Sam can feel himself start to slip; he needs to find Dean, because although Sam would never speak of it; Dean has always been his center, just like Sam has always been Dean's compass.)

[Living room]

(Dean wrestles with his sleepiness; he tries twisting his neck, and stomping his feet; anything to wake up and get his circulation going again. He knows it's working because the pounding in his head is hurting more than before. The pain is a good sign. He hopes Sammy can hold out just a little while longer.)


	5. Chapter 5

[Moments Later]

(Sam cracks; he can't fight the urge to see her beautiful face, any longer. He glances at the screen and sees an eighteen year old Jessica in a very familiar outfit. Sadness fills him; his eyes overflow with moisture, and he bites his lower lip. Paul decides it's just about time to start the real theatrics. He picks up a new film, and changes the spool. Sam, thinking relief is to come, couldn't be more wrong. This reel shows Jessica, in a white dress, and Sam gets goose-bumps, as his mind goes back to "The Woman in White" a scary ghost tale he and Dean once had to fight.

There were many moving and still photos of Jessica in white dresses, set to a background of super-creepy music, and then, a voice-over; her words, her voice, but via smooth cuts from bits and pieces of other films, painstakingly edited to reflect one thing; one thing only;

the message of a madman.)

Mix of Jessica:

 **Father!**

 **My hour is almost come.**

 **When I to sulf'rous and tormenting flames**

 **Must render up myself**

 **Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing**

 **To what I shall unfold**

 **So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.**

 **I am thy daughter's Spirit**

 **Doomed for a certain term to walk the night**

 **And for the day, confined to fast in fires**

 **Till the foul crimes in my days of nature**

 **Are Burnt and purged away.**

 **But, that I am forbid to tell the secrets of my prison house,**

 **I could a tale unfold whose lightest word**

 **Would harrow up thy soul,**

 **But this eternal blazon must not**

 **Be to ears of flesh and blood.**

 **List, list, O list!**

 **If thou didst ever thy dear daughter love-**

 **Revenge her foul and most Unnatural murder!**

 **Murder most foul, as in the best it is,**

 **But this most foul, strange and Unnatural.**

Paul:

 **Haste me to know 't...**

 **That I,**

 **With wings as swift as meditation,**

 **Or, the thoughts of love**

 **May sweep to my revenge**

Mix of Jessica:

 **I find thee apt;**

 **Now, Father, hear.**

 **'Tis given out that sleeping in my abode**

 **A misfortune arose unto me**

 **So the whole ear of Stanford**

 **Is by a forged process of my death, rankly abused**

 **But know, thou noble father,**

 **The will of fortune that did burn thy daughter's life,**

 **Now wears her Crown...**

(Paul pauses the film; goes to Sam and lifts his right pinky; then spins the ring it bore. Paul recognized it, when he shook Sam's hand earlier that afternoon.

Sam is completely terrified, for he knows the play well; he knows what is yet to come. Paul returns to his seat, and hits the button, once more.)

Mix of Jessica:

 **Thus was I, sleeping, by a lover's hand**

 **Of life, of crown, of king,**

 **At once dispatched; cut off,**

 **With all my imperfections on my head**

 **If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not**

 **But howsomever thou pursues this act;**

 **Remember me.**

(The words finish; and the movie runs out. All that can be heard is the clicking of the film against the reel.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Poster's Note:** _Sorry for the long delay on updating. All my fault, not the writers. I hope you enjoy this new chapter._

[Living room]

(Dean, having become very skilled from his service in Hell, has managed to loosen his knots, just enough to remove his left hand, which heightens his ability to get himself completely untied. Checking his apparel, he learns that his main gun has been removed from behind his back. He now checks his ankle, no back-up, either. With only one place left to look, Dean reluctantly checks his right side pants pocket. Bingo, his switchblade is still there. It will do under the right circumstances. So Dean goes to the wall where he hears the sound of a very young woman's voice. He follows that voice all the way to the corner, but he can go no further. Then another other voice sounds, he thinks it must be Paul's. He knows he must head for the door, and work his way back in that direction; back to Sam.)

[Parlor]

Paul: To be or not to be, Sam. That is the question.

(Paul picks up the parchment paper he had been writing on, and places it in front of Sam. The ink at the bottom is barely dry. Sam reads the Early Modern English that Paul used, just like Shakespeare, and it doesn't take him long to realize that it's a confession. And even though Sam does feel responsible for Jessica's death; he doesn't want to read this aloud because if he does, he will have to abide by it, and if he understands this correctly, it's offering him the chance to commit suicide. But he and Dean had made a pact, one that keeps both of them alive; neither of them is allowed to sacrifice himself, not even for the greater good, without express permission of the other.)

Sam: Look; whatever you believe my implication in Jessica's death might be; this is not what she'd want! Jessica would never ask for vengeance! And she'd certainly never blame me; it wasn't my fault.

(Sam can feel his own lies, and he knew that Paul could tell. But he also knew he had to keep trying. In the meantime, Paul, looking somehow very regal now, was fondling a broadsword that is displayed upon the mantle above the fireplace. He turns back to Sam, with profound anger.)

Paul: Don't you dare!

 **Do you think that I am easier to be played on, than a pipe**?

Don't you dare try to escape your role in this!

[Hallway]

(Dean creeps along the walls; closing in on the one voice that beckons him; Sam. He can tell by his brother's tone that he is in some form of distress, even though it is loud and strong.)

[Parlor]

(Paul slams his hand down hard on the table; it was so loud that it made Sam jump; but then he walks a circle around Sam, giving himself a chance to calm down.)

Paul: The police report labeled the fire as suspicious. The, the Coroner... said her death was unnatural. I hadn't a clue what he meant; I just assumed it was a chemical fire. But then about six months later, the arson investigator came to my house to interview me. I asked him which chemicals were used in the fire. He asked me; "what chemicals?" I said "the ones the Coroner mentioned; he said her death was unnatural;" The man looked at me with the widest eyes I've ever seen, and do you _know_ what he _said_ to me? He said, and I quote "That wasn't what the Coroner was trying to say... He meant not-of-this-world-Unnatural."

For a good long time, I still couldn't fathom what he said. I was stunned, shocked, and in total denial. But then, I found this book, (he holds up the copy of Hamlet) and suddenly, it all started to make sense to me. You, having left, never to be heard from again; virtually impossible to find or reach; started me thinking. So I hired a P.I. to check you out, then low and behold, unnatural death became far more like _**Unnatural Murder**_.

(Sam was breathing really hard, like he just ran a marathon. The look on his face was no longer sad or regretful, but pure rage.)

Sam: No! No! That's not true, that - that's not how it happened. I would never hurt Jess, I would never kill her; I loved her! I loved her.

Paul: Did you then, so why is she _**dead**_? (Paul has had just about enough of Sam's lies.)

Paul: You killed her, as sure as I'm standing here. **There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Sam Winchester, than are dreamt in your philosophy** **,** but because she didn't get the opportunity to go to confession, to cleanse her soul and repent, nor to receive last rites before she perished; she didn't get into Heaven. You, _**you,**_ took that away from her, with your agnostic beliefs and pagan practices- shrouded behind a bogus standpoint of science versus faith. And for that Sir, - I cannot let you stand!

(With absolute purpose, Paul moves to the mantle, and picks up the sword. Dean, knowing very well, that a switchblade was no match for a saber, grabs his arm, as hard as he could, hard enough to fracture the bone. Paul, grunts in pain, but fights with all his might, to keep grasp of the hilt, Dean, however, is a master at disarmament; and he rips the blade away from Paul; then slices it deeply into Paul's neck before dropping it to the floor. Paul crumples and although he's bleeding heavily; begs his daughter's forgiveness.)

Paul:

 **O cursed spite that ever I was born**

 **To set it right upon my sword**

 **'Tis now the very witching time of night,**

 **When Churchyards yawn**

 **And Hell itself breathes out**

(Dean and Sam just look at each other. Dean is wondering how Paul can still be speaking, while Sam is trying to interpret the meaning of his words.)

Paul:

 **This bad begins and worse remains behind.**

 **Revisits thus the glimpses of the moon**

 **Alas, Poor ghost!**

 **To sleep, perchance to dream...**

(Dean goes to Sam, and uses his switchblade, to start cutting the rope. But before he makes much headway, the real Ghost of Jessica, appears. Sam spots her just past Dean's shoulder. She's still in that white dress she was wearing when she died, and very slowly, the red blood from her wound is beginning to show.)

Sam: Dean, Dean, behind you!

(Dean turns quickly, but he has no proper defense against a Ghost. She screeches in fury and lunges at him, but Dean knew if he moved aside, she would attack Sam, so Dean stands his ground, and uses his tiny little knife, to try to break her form. It takes her by surprise, and she fades out for all of two seconds.)

Sam: Dean, the fireplace!

(Dean runs towards it at full speed; catching himself with the edge of the mantle; he grabs a poker, but he isn't quite fast enough. Jessica gets to Sam, and is proceeding to rip into his chest, probably in an attempt to remove his heart. Sam screams through gritted teeth. Dean swipes the poker through her torso, and she fades out again. Sam begins to breathe through the pain.)

Dean: How is she here? She was cremated.

Sam: I don't know. I don't know! (Dean searches frantically for something Paul has kept, but he finds nothing.)

Dean: Think, Sammy, think, do you see anything of hers, anything at all?

(Just then, she comes back, this time, her screeches are shorter and louder, she has been angered even more than her spiteful soul was at the start. Sam looks around, but nothing is hers. Dean attacks her with the poker, Sam, tries to get free of the lines, and in doing so, he feels the pinky ring; her ring; that he was wearing only today, in case he ran into anyone he knew from their days at Stanford. But Sam can't reach the ring to remove it.)

Sam: Dean, Dean! The ring, on my finger, it's hers!

(But Dean is busy; the iron poker is no longer working, because she has learned how to stay out of its way. Everytime Dean slashes at her; she turns, or twists her way around it.)

Dean: Take it off!

Sam: I-I can't, I can't reach it!

(Dean keeps trying to hit her with the poker, while backing up towards Sam, in an effort to help him get the ring off. But Dean knows, that he will need a few seconds away from her to accomplish that, without her getting her hands into Sam again, As soon as Dean deems himself close enough to Sam, he takes the poker, and stands it straight up, and with one great thrust, cuts her down from head to toe. She fades out. Then he finds the ring on Sam's hand, and pulls it off. Jessica returns, this time both hands are outstretched to kill each of them at the same time, but before she can, Dean throws the ring into the fire, and Sam watches, as the Spirit of his once beloved Jessica, burns up before him.)

 ** _Review please, makes her day. :)_**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN:** _Here is the end of the story. My friend would like to thank all those that have read, reviewed and followed. Enjoy!_

* * *

(Sam and Dean are driving back home. Dean looks at Sam, knowingly. But there is nothing more that words can say. Sam is rubbing the pinky that the ring had been on; feeling its emptiness. Dean could tell by that lost look in his eyes that Sam was blaming himself, and his heart went out to his little brother, who doesn't deserve to suffer like this and never seems to get a break.)

Dean: It wasn't your fault, you know?

(But Sam wouldn't engage. They've had this exact conversation before, and Sam is in no mood to have it again.)

Sam: Shut up, Dean.

(It took Dean a moment to realize what Sam was thinking, but Dean knew he had to snap Sammy out of this, or he just might end up like Paul.)

Dean: Bitch

(Sam doesn't answer right away. But it made him stop, and think, though he didn't want to. Sam is a very deep and spiritual man; and it seems he's always feeling guilty for any part he has in any harm done, especially to those who are innocents. Like his brother before him; his father instilled in Sam a peculiar realm of right and wrong; of justice, and vengeance. For Dean, these ideals were cut and dry, but not for Sam; who always tried too hard, and thought too much. Sam instinctively knew he had to think twice because he was corrupted by evil; he just didn't know why or how, and even though his blood has since been purified; and all the evil has been cleansed and purged from his body; Sam still tends to think along the same lines as he did in his troubled past. Sam realizes that he must now force himself out of his dread, before he can truly appreciate Dean's word, and respond in kind.)

Sam: Jerk

(Two words, two small words that represented a bond between two brothers; a connection that was somehow larger than the universe itself; unending, unbreakable, undeniable; this was something for Sam to hold onto; and on that long drive home, Dean periodically watched as that lost look focused into something worth living for.)

[The End]

 **AN:** Once again, thank you for reading. My friend hopes you liked the story. Please leave Feedback, if you will, about the story. Again, thanks for reading.


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